Arcane: Sea of ​​blood

Three months had passed since Abel settled in the abandoned mines beneath Zaun. Time flowed differently here, unbound by the usual rhythm of day and night. It was measured only by the struggle for survival, each breath of the toxic air, and each step along the rusted rails leading deeper into the darkness. Abel was no longer the boy who had once stepped into this cursed place with trembling fear. His body had changed, adapting to the harsh environment, and his mind had sharpened, filled with predatory instincts he never knew he possessed.

The concrete platform that had become his refuge now looked alive. Its surface, once gray and lifeless, was covered in crimson buds growing from patches of dried blood. This was the manifestation of his ability—"Blood is Pricier than Life." A strange and eerie gift that fed on death and left behind something more than just strength. These flowers, something between flesh and plant, pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, as if they were a part of him. Abel didn't know where they came from, but he felt their roots digging deep into the earth, forming a network beneath him. Each mutated rat he killed left behind not only power but also a mark on this cursed world. And these flowers were a reminder that he was no longer entirely human.

The environment he found himself in was so hostile that even the hardiest creatures of Zaun couldn't survive here for long. The air was saturated with poisonous fumes, the walls of the mines were coated with slime, and in the darkness lurked creatures ready to tear apart anyone who dared invade their domain. But Abel was different. His ability—"Adaptation"—had begun to fully manifest. The scars left by the rats healed faster, leaving behind only thin white lines. His skin, once thin and vulnerable, was now tougher, as if covered by an invisible armor. He no longer felt irritation from the toxic environment—his lungs had grown accustomed to the poisonous air, and his eyes no longer watered from the acrid smoke.

But this was only the beginning.

Whether it was due to the number of mutated creatures he had consumed or the ability "Blood is Pricier than Life," which granted him a part of the essence of the slain beings, his body had begun to change. His teeth, once ordinary, now slightly resembled fangs—sharp and strong, capable of tearing through flesh with ease. His nails, which he used to bite out of nervousness, could now slightly elongate and dig into concrete. It was a strange and frightening feeling—to realize that his body was no longer entirely human. He caught himself thinking that sometimes he enjoyed this power, this primal rage that awakened in him during the hunt. But at the same time, he feared it, feared losing himself in this new, alien being he was becoming.

One day, while trying to catch a crab-like creature with a stone shell, he noticed that his nails easily pierced the wall, allowing him to climb vertical surfaces. This discovery changed his hunting strategies. Now he didn't need to corner his prey every time—he could simply sink his claws into them, feeling their life force flow into him. Hunting had become more than just a means of survival for him—it was a ritual that strengthened his connection to this place. Each creature he killed left behind not only meat but also a mark on his soul. He felt their essence merging with his own, making him stronger but also more alien to himself.

Once, after a particularly successful hunt, he noticed that his hands were trembling slightly, and his eyes flickered with something feral. He looked at his reflection in a puddle of toxic water and saw that his eyes had grown brighter, almost glowing in the dark. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. He caught himself thinking that he liked this new gaze, full of strength and confidence. But at the same time, he feared that one day he might not be able to return to who he once was.

The blood-red flowers growing on his platform had become something of an indicator of his condition. When he was well-fed and full of energy, they bloomed brighter, their petals pulsating as if alive. When he was hungry or wounded, they withered, becoming almost invisible. These flowers were not just a part of his ability—they were a part of his senses, allowing him, albeit with difficulty, to feel what was happening around him.

One night, as he lay on the platform trying to sleep, he noticed the flowers stirring. Their petals opened, and a faint red light emanated from them. Abel felt something reaching out to him, as if trying to establish a connection. He extended his hand, and one of the flowers touched his finger. At that moment, images flashed before his eyes: he saw himself, but not as he was now—strong, confident, yet frightening. His eyes burned like embers, and his body was covered in scars that glowed with a faint red light. He stood atop something enormous, surrounded by darkness, yet unafraid of it. Was this a warning or a prophecy? He didn't know, but he understood that these flowers were not just a side effect of his ability. They were a part of him, his destiny.

On the day everything changed, he was resting on the platform, watching the flowers pulse in time with his heartbeat. Suddenly, something whistled through the air. He didn't have time to react before a jar of chemicals shattered above his head, dousing him from head to toe in a corrosive liquid. Even his resistance couldn't fully protect him—his skin began to melt, and sharp pain shot through his body, eliciting a primal roar of rage. He jumped up, frantically wiping the caustic substance from his face, but the particles of poison had already seeped into his skin, causing unbearable pain.

Abel looked up and saw the rat. No, not just a rat. This creature was enormous, almost human-sized, hunched and grotesque, with matted fur tangled with scraps of clothing and metal parts. In its paws gleamed vials of unknown chemicals. Its eyes burned with madness, and its mouth twisted into a grin.

In a rage, Abel chased after the rat, but he quickly realized the futility of his efforts. For the rat, this was like running through its own home—it knew every ledge, every obstacle, and every turn. Despite its size, it was astonishingly fast. Abel realized that he had been living all this time practically in the lair of this monster, and it seemed the rat had grown annoyed with his presence, perhaps due to the number of its kin he had killed. Now, this was a battle not just for survival—but for his home, for the right to exist.

These chases continued for some time. Every day, the rat would come to the same spot to douse him with different chemicals. How did Abel know they were different? Because his skin had never adapted to any of them. He tried various methods to catch it—running, ambushing, even attempting to catch the flying vials—but each attempt ended with the rat's contemptuous grin.

Finally, Abel decided to set a trap. He found a relatively unrusted pipe outside the ditch and even sharpened it slightly. On the day of the ambush, he dove into the water near the spot where the rat usually threw chemicals at him, hiding underwater and using the pipe as a makeshift breathing straw. He watched the shadows moving across the water's surface.

After a couple of hours, true to its punctuality, the rat appeared again, creeping through the old sewer with a new vial of poisonous chemicals in its paws.

As the rat slowly approached the ledge from which it usually threw the chemicals, Abel burst out of the water, sending splashes in all directions. The rat squealed, clearly not expecting such an attack. Disoriented, the creature froze for a moment, and that moment was enough. Abel drove the sharpened pipe into its neck, feeling the metal pierce through flesh.

The rat screeched, thrashing in convulsions, but Abel kept pushing the pipe deeper until the screech turned into a choked gurgle. The creature's eyes widened, and then a strange, almost human sadness flickered in them, as if it had lost something precious—not its life, but perhaps a friend... or an experiment?

Abel felt a powerful stream of toxic energy flowing from the rat into his body. "Blood is Pricier than Life" surged within him with unprecedented force. This was more than just nourishment—he felt this energy changing him, tearing him apart from within, clashing with "Adaptation." They fought like fire and ice until they finally reached a balance. Gradually, under the influence of adaptation, the energy began to settle in his heart, spreading through his body—lungs, liver, joints, muscles, bones—every part of him underwent significant changes.

His breath, saturated with poison, began to emit a white mist that swirled on the surface. In this damp, toxin-filled air, he felt better than ever before. Just three months ago, this air would have killed him, but now it was his natural habitat. The power gained from "Blood is Pricier than Life" had merged with his adaptation, creating something entirely new. It even seemed to him that the poison in his blood was no longer just a part of his body—it had become his essence.

He breathed heavily, the transformation ending with a tingling sensation across his skin. Feeling his body tremble from the excess of power, he didn't immediately realize that something had changed. Only after a few moments did he notice a slight tingling on his head and raised his hand. Strands of his hair fell away, revealing new streaks of gray. His breath became thick, almost tangible. Poison, dense as white mist, poured from his lips, filling the space around him.

Looking once more at the rat lying in a bud of crimson flowers, Abel winced slightly. The energy from it was not only more intense than anything he had felt before but also carried toxic properties—so potent that it even caused brief moments of mental fog. For a moment, he thought he heard the voice of the dying rat, saying:

— No… Twitch… just… wanted to live…

Abel stood over the body, feeling his body gradually adapting to the changes it had just undergone. He understood that this was only the beginning. The mines, which had once been his prison, were now his home, his fortress. But he also understood that the further he went, the less remained of the boy he once was. And yet, he couldn't stop. The power he had gained was too great to give up. He was willing to pay any price, even if it meant losing himself.

He looked at his hands, covered in a fine network of scars that glowed with a faint red light. He was no longer human, but not quite a monster either. He was something new, something that was yet to be understood. And deep down, he knew that his journey was only just beginning.